"I am the Indian chief I have attempted to describe. Take that for your answer." The young girl was silent. "If my heart bleeds for suffering, it is my mother's nature pleading within me. I check it, because it would be unworthy of a warrior, and the leader of warriors. The storm has arisen--I am carried along with it!" As he uttered the last words his form seemed to dilate, while his listener stood wondering at it spell-bound. After a pause, he continued in a tone more subdued, but still full of feeling. "If I have caused you unhappiness, think of me as the involuntary instrument. My uncle was beloved by all his tribe--by all our race. His injuries were ours; it was ours to avenge them. And for her"--his voice trembled as he pointed to Sansuta's grave--"_she_ was his only hope and joy upon earth." Alice Rody's tears fell in torrents over the last resting-place of the Indian maiden. Wacora observed them, and, with a delicacy of feeling, was about to withdraw from her presence, when she stayed him with a motion of her hand. For some time neither uttered a word. Alice at length spoke, through sobs which she vainly strove to check or conceal. "Forgive me," said she, "for I have done you a great wrong. Much that was dark and terrible appears now just and natural. I cannot say that I am happier, but I am less troubled than before." He would have kissed her hand, but, with a slight shudder, she drew back. "No, no; do not touch me! Leave me to myself. I shall be more composed by-and-bye." He obeyed, without saying a word; leaving her alone. For a long time she sat in the same place, a prey to thoughts she scarce understood. At length she rose, to all appearance more composed, and retracing the forest path with slow, sad steps, she re-entered the Indian town. CHAPTER FORTY ONE. A TREACHEROUS BRIDGE. There was one among the Indians who viewed their fair captive with no great favour. It was Maracota. His devotion to Oluski had been so blindly true that, in his narrow-minded memory of the old chief's wrongs, he had become bloodthirsty and remorseless. Naturally of a revengeful disposition, he saw, in the leniency of both Wacora and Nelatu towards the pale-faced maiden, too much of forgiveness. This stirred his evil passions to their depth, and he sought for an opportunity to do her an injury. With a shrewd guess at the truth, he looked upon Cris Carrol's escape as another evidence of that toleration which ill consorted with his sanguinary hatred of the white race. He dared not take open measures, but insidiously strove to turn the people of the tribe against their white captive, as well as Wacora. His success was not commensurate with his wishes. They admired their chief too much to believe anything to his prejudice, and Maracota became himself looked upon as a restless agitator--a subject more zealous than loyal.